Left Over from the War
by thereisafire
Summary: It's Ky's birthday. Sol helps him celebrate. Uniforms are involved.


Secretly, Ky hates the uniform of the Holy Order.

It was designed many years before he ever joined, and Ky supposes that it was designed by a sadist. First, it was _white_, which was hell in case they ever needed to camouflage, and hell when there were parades. And basically just hell in general. Undeterred by the limits of an _army_ uniform, the designer then added flowing capes, in case the soldiers ever needed to billow at people and threaten them off. In addition to that, there were of course the twenty buckles that served no practical purpose besides gleaming in the sunlight, which of course required regular polishing. And he couldn't change the uniform because it was _tradition_. To stop wearing the uniform, even as an official of the International Police Force, would be seen as him betraying his past. Especially since a lot of the rank-and-file were formerly Holy Order soldiers.

Ky adjusts the collar to make it slightly less uncomfortable against his neck, trying to quell his undue irritation and enjoy his birthday. He keeps it a secret in his files, as he doesn't appreciate the reminder that he will always be younger than the majority of the senior staff, but those well-versed in stalking him have managed to figure it out.

Sadly, as members of the International Police Force tend to respect his privacy, there has only been one cupcake left hesitantly on his desk this year from the administrative staff. He munches on it in between staring at the reports of criminal activity, looking forward to the time that he can go home and make a celebratory cup of tea, trying to decide between the Oolong or the Earl Grey. Maybe he'll make a gratin too.

Ky trudges home, counting the steps, mentally planning what he'll do when he gets back.

His plans are all forgotten the moment he opens his door.

Sol is sprawled on his couch, which isn't exactly a surprise, as Sol often picks Ky's couch as an ideal place to crash between his bounty-hunting trips. He also coincidentally happens to pick the times where Ky really isn't in the righteous-justice mood, to prevent Ky chasing him around to demand the Fuuenken. His legs are sticking out and a pack of butter cookies scattered on the floor. Ky tries to stop his eyebrow from twitching, because he'd saved those biscuits for a _special occasion_ to drink with a nice cup of tea, and now they've probably gone soft, thanks to boorish friend/rivals.

Then Sol rolls over, and Ky notices what Sol is _wearing._

"You need to get groceries. Practically nothing to eat here besides frou-frou biscuits."

"I don't want to be lectured on my lifestyle by _you_, and...why are you wearing that?"

"Picked it up from storage. Kept it after I quit, for old times' sake. Happy birthday."

Sol's grinning darkly, and Ky knows where this is going.

One winter, the Holy Order's higher-ups, freezing in the cold, had started to trade completely uncharacteristic stories of the girls they'd met, and the things that the girls knew how to do. The phrase "you _lucky_ bastard" was their method of ranking stories, accompanied by knowing winks and jostles with elbows. Ky refrained from participating, claiming that he had a childhood sweetheart waiting for him. He would have gone further with inventing a vivid, lurid tale (he wasn't completely innocent), but he was afraid he'd let his fantasy of Sol Badguy peek through the plotholes.

He thought he'd managed to sublimate that into routine annoyance and a sort of easy camaraderie in between all the rivalry, but what Sol is wearing is bringing all those old thoughts to mind. His hair, as usual, is mildly tamed by his suppressor headband. He's dressed in the red version of the Holy Order's uniform, his skintight black undershirt covering his arms. He's left the white collar of the undershirt slightly unzipped, and Ky can see a prominent vein on his neck pulse steadily. The cape drapes around him, white with crimson edges, connected to the golden studs that hold the front piece in place. His belt, as usual, has _that word_ crudely carved into it, attached to his uniform by four buckles. The black hem of the cape drapes around his muscular thighs, the thin fabric providing no obstacle to their visibility.

This uniform is accompanied by the protective white gloves with red and black accents that flame users were supposed to wear to prevent a backlash. The gloves are thinner around Sol's fingertips, and Ky watches Sol as he flexes his hands, waiting for the next move.

"Gears can smell lust, _Captain_ Kiske. Every time we fought or argued...I knew what you were thinking."

Ky stands, unsure of what to say, if he should advance or retreat, deny or confirm.

"I knew what you were thinking every time you called me in for a _talk_ about my methods. Knew all the other things you wanted to do."

A feral smile, with bared teeth, the air heating up around Sol due to his fire affinity.

"But damn, you Holy Order types are so repressed. I thought you'd have approached me by now."

Ky's frozen for a second, then comprehension sinks in. He almost feels like kicking himself, but an opportunity to do what he has always wanted to do is presenting itself.

Might as well make the most of a birthday gift. He locks the front door.

"Well, Sol, what did you have in mind?"

"This is probably what you've always wanted, _sir,_ so let's relive old times," and Sol's on his knees, loosening Ky's belt. He sets it on the floor gently, then proceeds to clumsily unbutton the front piece of the uniform, hands shaking with lust. It crumples to the floor in a mound of blue fabric.

Sol proceeds to loosen Ky's pants before yanking them down to mid-thigh, tugging Ky's underwear with them.

His long tongue tentatively licks the head of Ky's member, then increases in enthusiasm as Ky thrusts into Sol's open mouth. Sol's eyelids lower, dedicating all his attention to the task at hand, gently obeying Ky's rhythm without a hint of rebellion. The flowing cape of the uniform pools around Sol as he kneels on the floor, and it's the effortless obedience that Ky dreamed of. The room is still, except for the occasional moans that Ky makes, as Sol remains totally silent, the image of the loyal soldier.

Ky pulls back after a while, he's so hard it hurts but this really isn't as fulfilling as he'd imagined, and Sol stares at him, as Ky drags him to the bedroom, removing their clothes piece by piece on the way. Ky has somehow managed to _surprise_ Sol.

"I thought..."

"I want _you_, Sol," and they're both sprawled on the bed, stark naked, as Ky savagely nips Sol's neck. A trail of clothing marks the route they've taken to Ky's bedroom.

Ky grasps Sol's shoulders, and grinds his member against Sol's own. Sol's eyes close and he lets out a shaky moan.

"Come on. Talk to me, Sol. Curse me out. I don't care."

"You're a fucking...dirty Knight, you know that? Fuck, do you know how much trouble it is to polish those _buttons?_ Took me ages to put that thing on and it turns out you don't even want it!"

Ky's moved on to manual stimulation, jerking Sol's cock roughly as Sol thrusts into Ky's curled hand.

"Believe me, I know. You look better without it."

Ky removes his hand, toying with Sol's balls, making him thrust his hips in search of the lost sensation, gently stroking up and down Sol's cock with one finger, playing with the slit that's wet with pre-cum.

"Come on, Ky, you fucking tease, just do something already, fuck..."

"That's what I wanted to hear," and Ky resumes the rhythm. A few quick jerks, and Sol's spent for the moment, gasping, sticky and lost.

Ky kisses his forehead, where the cold metal headband is. Sweat trickles from under it, running down the bridge of Sol's nose. Ky licks it. It tastes oddly metallic, like diluted blood. Sol's nipples are hard little nubs, and Ky touches them with his fingertips.

A muted chuckle.

"That wasn't what I expected at all."

"I'm a man of hidden depths, _Mr Badguy_."

Sol's eyeing Ky's member, still hard from the interrupted blowjob.

"Gears have increased stamina, _Holy Knight_."

"That's good, because you'll need it for half the things I've planned."

"There's lube in my pant pockets. If you can remember where you threw them."

"Apparently I'm a _Boy Scout._ We're always prepared."

"Well, round two starts in five minutes. Four more hours before today ends, birthday boy."

"Looking forward to it."

Ky looks at the man lying on his bed, before getting up to fetch the lube.

"Thanks, Sol."

"Hey, it's cheaper than a fucking tea set."


End file.
